𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭?

FILICIDE is way too fun a word to mean the deliberate death of a child at the vagary of its progenitor, simon thinks, ever the moralistic martyr conjuring up an image most coveted: the man’s parents, donning the tattered satin of forlorn, foreign emperors who thought a son would fix their failing marriage (he’d never been one to willingly necrose in the backstage chambers of a performance, but projection was kind of a murphy special, like a flaming molotov that first presented itself as a tourist attraction rather than a murder weapon). the man’s parents, hair like worms made of whiskey and eyes like disco balls with clinical depression, deciding that they are not ready to be parents and that the state of california is not ready to have its other sons and daughters stolen away by the bovine pretty boy. come to think of it, how old is lothario’s long-lost descendant? all the placenta beauty products and snake oil serums on the tiktok market had messed up simon’s perception of time. another fun factoid to coerce out of summer macbeth’s brand new plaything.

❝ well, honesty is always a hallmark of a relationship meant to last, ❞ he interjects, parrying the passion he holds for destroying someone’s self-esteem with great effort. ❝ and you sound like you would make a great fortune teller. you’ve got the charisma, the enigmatic aura, the spontaneity. ❞ the stench of alcohol, the spoiled silhouette of someone who’s never been told no and had it acknowledged by no more than a single former sycophant broken by the rejection of their advances, the barstool manners of a bucking machine gone needle-in-haywire. however, in the face of compliments, he concedes: ❝ i do read a lot. ❞ less the great gatsby and more tmz.com, but if there’s anything he’s learned from skimming divorce papers and drafting restraining orders, it’s that even the drunkest mouth can’t be trusted to keep shut at the slightest command of spilling.

❝ yes, um, i’m hopeless when it comes to zodiacs, but i presume cancer isn’t a pleasant one. ❞ he can feel his mind melting with every flash of walmart disco ball and jaguar leather jacket, but cosmopolitan cat burglar over here definitely has leo somewhere in his big three. ❝ and i’m sure he did something even worse right after. he might be plotting something worse now, you know? you don’t seem like an easy guy to get over. i mean that in a good way, obviously. the cat represented his heart, you know? and you can return a cat, but you can’t return the hair it leaves behind. you either have to clean your clothing until it’s all spotless or get the cat back so all your stuff can be covered in its hair. ❞ he is such a good writer. he deserves a good drink. not strong enough to get him strong-armed out of the bar, but electrifying past the point where his emotional stability melts with every word out of the other’s lunacy-laced grin.

and then he gets a name to the face. it’s a name prominent in event planning circles to the point where simon almost forgets to fake cardiac arrest at the eloquent title of ‘porn star martini’ given to what wesley lafleur thinks is really good, which makes him rethink ordering any martinis ever because whatever wesley lafleur thinks is really good is more than likely an alien experiment with the independent variable being how many clothes get stolen and simon is not losing his glasses tonight. drummer, influencer, model. he physically cannot think of a more manwhorish linkedin profile.

❝ simon. simon murphy. i can be your emotional support best-tea a few nights every week, if it’s a matter of scheduling, ❞ simon jokes, fiddling with his bowtie. if he has to mispronounce another few pages of the 21st century slang phonebook, so be it. ❝ i’m an actor, devoted parent, occasional bar mitzvah dj. believe it or not, my wallet does, indeed, contain stuff other than pictures of my daughter, so you won’t have to worry about me not tipping the bartender. unless, of course, you want to take your mind off the cat in the hat and hit that. ❞

speaking of, simon is dying of thirst. with the most senile bodily mechanisms possible, he tries to get the bartender’s attention. ❝ sir, sir? a porn star martini, s’il vous plait? ❞ he fails. does nobody watch movies anymore?

          ❝wow,  what  a  fortune  cookie  thing  to  say.❞  he  might  as  well  be  a  dog  wagging  his  tail  at  this  point,  eating  up  every  backhanded  word  that  left  simon  murphy’s  lips.  ❝do  i?❞  a  pause  is  taken  as  he  leans  in  closer,  grin  widening.  ❝tell  me  more.❞  a  sucker  for  compliments  and  attention,  the  older  male  was  definitely  playing  his  cards  right  if  he  wanted  some  type  of  gossip  out  of  him.  wesley  could  never  turn  down  someone  complimenting  him,  as  his  already  inflated  ego  practically  thrived  off  comments  like  these.  ❝that  makes  one  of  us.❞  wesley  refers  to  the  reading  comment,  though,  he’d  rather  have  anyone  think  he  doesn’t  read  because  he’s  dumb  as  opposed  to  he  doesn’t  read  because  he’s  dyslexic.  that  was  a  secret  that  wouldn’t  leave  his  lips  no  matter  how  wasted  he  was.  of  course,  he  could  read,  and  he’s  certainly  gotten  a  lot  better  over  the  years,  but  it  wasn’t  something  he  would  ever  willingly  do  in  his  free  time.  the  biggest  help  to  him  was  comic  books,  as  the  graphics  really  helped  him  decipher  what  was  going  on  when  he  was  beginning  to  learn  english,  but  that  was  about  it.  he  figured  if  his  career  didn’t  require  constant  reading,  he  had  no  reason  to  indulge  in  that  at  all.  

          wesley  wasn’t  into  the  zodiac  either,  but  he  knows  he’s  a  leo.  he  isn’t  sure  if  that  means  much,  or  anything  at  all,  but  according  to  his  astrology  freak  friends,  he  definitely  screamed  leo  energy…  whatever  that  means.  ❝oh,  you  would  definitely  presume  correct.❞  again,  he  didn’t  know  anything  about  zodiacs,  but  it  just  felt  easier  to  blame  things  on  his  former  lovers’  sign.  obviously,  he  would  rather  resort  to  that  than  take  accountability  for  being  a  psycho.  ❝yeah,  but  are  we  surprised?  he’s  a  cancer.❞  he  desperately  deserves  to  get  punched,  the  more  he  talks.  ❝obviously.  unless  you  have  a  great  personal  maid,  which  i  do.  she  definitely  got  rid  of  all  that  fucker’s  gross,  evil  cat  hair.❞  he  was  entirely  missing  the  point,  not  on  purpose,  but  mostly  because  he  didn’t  understand  simon’s  point  to  begin  with.  whether  simon  was  losing  brain  cells  with  each  word  that  left  wesley’s  lips  was  entirely  on  him,  but  hey,  at  least  wesley  is  entertaining.  

          ❝nice  to  meet  you  simon,  you  definitely  deserve  the  world.❞  what  he  deserved  was  coal  for  christmas  and  a  rude  awakening,  but  it’s  not  like  wesley  was  any  better  than  him.  ❝oh,  i’m  not  worried  about  that.  the  essentials  any  guy  should  have  in  their  wallet  besides  money  is  condoms,  sample  sized  lube  and  party  favors,❞  jesus  fucking  christ,  wesley.  there  wasn’t  a  hint  of  a  joking  tone  in  his  words,  meaning  he  was  completely  serious.  

          he  can  recognize  the  french  from  a  mile  away,  his  native  tongue  making  him  nostalgic.  ❝do  you  actually  speak  french,  or  do  you  half  ass  it?❞  what  kind  of  question  is  that?  apparently,  one  wesley  thinks  is  completely  valid.  ❝make  it  two,  deux!❞    he  tells  the  bartender,  in  regards  to  the  pornstar  martini,  as  if  he  really  needed  another  drink  right  now.  ❝i  think  you’ll  love  it.❞  speak  for  yourself.

as part of the mayhem family, luciana has met her fair share of characters in the social scene throughout the years, but wesley is proving to be a breed of his own. she sips her drink, head shaking in mock disappointment at the homme’s ‘not the kitty’ comment. ❝ here i thought, you might have a secret side gig as a pussy whisperer, ❞ she teases, winking at him, ❝ but alas, you’ve shattered that illusion. ❞ his dramatic sigh and the way he hams up his battle scars only fuel her amusement. her gaze returns to his scratched arms, fingers still drawing imaginary lines in the air. ❝ you’re a true warrior, a modern-day feline hero. ❞ she nods solemnly, as if about to award him a medal for his valiant efforts. luciana is enjoying the lighthearted conversation, even if it’s definitely the most ridiculous one she’s been engaged in in the last … 48 hours, give or take. ❝ basements are notorious for hiding all sorts of eccentricities, ❞ she muses. it’s probably because basements are rooms that need little attention when it comes to soundproofing, perfect place to house a dungeon of questionable delights or your cat cloning business, she supposes. there’s a cinema room in hers, which seems pretty tame in comparison. perhaps she should invest in a sex swing or something. ❝ maybe he’s training an army of supercats down there, you’d better watch your six, just in case. ❞ she smirks, her imagination running wild. his remaining prose earns another laugh from her, ❝ yup, good on me, indeed. ❞ she says, her tone self-deprecating and dry, making it rather obvious that her assent if far from genuine. she shakes her head as if shaking the topic away. as the conversation flows, she raises an eyebrow at his comment about being too cute to be threatened. ❝ pfft, don’t sell yourself short, wesley, ❞ lifting a hand to her heart, she continues, ❝ i’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be more than happy to threaten you just to get your attention. ❞ she chuckles, the alcohol warming her cheeks. she raises her glass to toast, ❝ to memorable encounters and unexpected conversations, darling. chee— ❞ her brow furrows and her mouth sinks into an exaggerated pout when she realizes her glass is empty. ❝ well, shit ! okay, watch this, ❞ the words barely leave her lips before she’s already flagging down the bartender to order more drinks. ❝ can you give me a screaming orgasm, please ? and a blowjob for my friend, ❞ she leans forward on the bar with her arms close together, pushing her cleavage even further out as she bats her eyelashes innocently at the now flustered bartender. ❝ kidding ! shots are okay, too, ❞ she says playfully, holding four fingers up.

       as expected, wesley just ignored everything that jupiter said. why were these rich white boys so difficult? he sighed. wesley seemed to always do whatever he wanted, no questions asked. it was like whatever jupiter said, it was like his ears were in a different frequency, cause nothing was reaching his brain. he looked at him, rolling his eyes once again. " i know how to have fun wesley, i just know the right time and place, " he responded. jupiter took another sip of his drink and paid no attention to wesley. when he said that jupiter secretly loved when wesley bothered him, he shook his head. " oh god, please stop, " he said. why the hell would he ever want to want someone to bother him at all times, no thank you. even if the guy was cute, ' but no... stop–– he's not cute ' jupiter thought. jupiter glanced over to see wesley grabbing a bottle and when he said he was going off, he was relieved. finally some peace. " have fun... "

       when jupiter heard wesley's father yell his name, he looked towards the direction where wesley was walking and he saw him blow a kiss to his father. that made him chuckle for some reason. maybe because he understood, the pressures they get from their own father. " jupiter, " he heard his name. like clockwork, he turned to look over at his own father, his face immediately directing him towards the door where jupiter existed. he knew what the man meant. he was stuck babysitting him–– once again. " are you fucking serious, " he whispered before leaving his spot and heading out.

          he’s  always  been  fascinated  by  the  ocean.  it  was  so  undiscovered,  it  was  crazy  to  think  that  there  was  more  of  it  than  land.  wesley  was  hoping  there  was  no  jellyfish  near  the  shore  (  getting  stung  sucks  ),  but  that  didn’t  prevent  him  from  following  his  impulses,  which  was  typical  for  him.  he’s  so  lost  in  the  trance  of  it  all,  he  doesn’t  notice  the  flash  go  off  behind  him  at  all.  he  starts  by  taking  off  his  dress  shoes  and  socks,  then  he  proceeds  by  dropping  his  overly  expensive  tuxedo  jacket.  sloppily  unbuttoning  the  buttons  from  his  silk,  long  sleeved  dress  shirt,  he  eventually  gets  it  off,  throwing  it  onto  the  sand  as  well,  so  now  he  only  needed  to  get  his  pants  off.

          undoing  his  belt,  that  falls  as  well,  before  his  pants  go  too,  standing  in  front  of  the  ocean  in  nothing  but  his  briefs.  shuffling  behind  him  causes  him  to  turn  around,  hazy  vision  spotting  jupiter.  at  that,  he  doesn’t  even  bother  to  hide  his  laughter.  ❝follower  much?❞  reaching  towards  the  bottle,  another  swig  is  taken,  running  the  back  of  his  palm  past  his  lips  as  the  bottle  is  placed  back  on  the  sand.  eventually,  the  briefs  come  off,  but  he  doesn’t  turn  towards  him,  muscular  back  facing  the  other,  if  he’s  even  bothering  to  look.  all  he  would  be  able  to  see  is  his  ass  anyways,  which,  plenty  of  people  have  seen  before.  ❝you  don’t  have  to  stay,  you  can  go  back  and  tell  them  i’m  okay.❞  though  skinny  dipping  minutes  away  from  midnight  in  the  ocean  didn’t  sound  safe,  but  it  sounded  adventurous  and  exciting  and  that  was  all  wesley  needed.  the  last  thing  he  felt  was  any  sort  of  shame,  bashfulness  or  insecurity  in  regards  to  being  naked  in  public.  he  knew  he  had  a  great  body,  so  if  anything,  anyone  watching  him  was  blessed.  not  another  word  is  said  to  the  other  as  he  slowly  makes  his  way  closer  towards  the  shore.

          a  hand  hovers  over  his  heart,  mouth  parting  open  the  slightest  bit,  as  if  jupiter  seriously  wounded  him  with  his  words.  ❝ouch.  hurtful?❞  his  response  drips  with  sarcasm,  somehow,  sounding  more  like  a  question.  another  laugh  leaves  his  lips,  clearly  not  at  all  offended  by  jupiter’s  words.  it  took  a  lot  to  anger,  hurt  or  offend  wesley.  if  he  was  easily  moved  by  things,  he  would’ve  ghosted  jupiter  the  second  they  met  each  other,  but  his  resistance  to  words  was  as  admirable  as  it  was  baffling.  growing  up  in  this  industry,  rich  and  in  the  spotlight,  he  was  used  to  people  having  all  types  of  opinions  about  him.  he  had  been  receiving  hateful  comments  since  he  was  a  literal  child,  so  jupiter’s  responses  were  walks  in  the  park  for  him.  ❝okay,  well,❞  he  grabs  a  bottle  from  behind  the  bar  when  the  bartender  isn’t  looking,  ❝i’m  gonna  go  do  that  terrible  idea.  you  stay  here  and  have  fun  fake  smiling  and  acting  picture  perfect  as  if  this  event  will  somehow  have  an  impact  on  global  warming  or  something.❞  he  walks  away  from  the  other,  stumbling  a  bit,  towards  the  door.  the  beach  was,  thankfully,  right  behind  this  building  that  belonged  to  his  father.  another  oceanside  hotel  no  one  asked  for.  ❝wesley!❞  he  hears  his  father’s  voice,  to  which  he  turns  around  and  blows  him  a  kiss  before  replying,  ❝au  revoir!❞  opening  the  door,  he  doesn’t  bother  to  look  back.

he lets another chuckle roll past his lips as he looks at the homme before him ❝ anyone who decides to say otherwise must be insane , don’t you think ? ❞ he adds on as he finishes what is left of the amber liquid in his glass . wesley and pepa were the most dangerous pair that there was , simply because both of them had no worries for consequences , anything that pepa did was fixed by money and power ( including his sister , who covered his tracks with everything and everyone ). hearing wesley’s prose causes a chuckle to escape past his brims ❝ but I do have a great dick , and it’s not douchey —— es la pura verdad. ❞ he says cockily as he taps the glass and the bartender begins to fill it ❝ a double . ❞ he adds on as he turns to the other listening to what he is saying and he is not lying , usually mafe is throughly open with him , she’s not secretive with him but he has to wonder why isn’t she sharing this with him ❝ how about you help me out , help a brother out and figure out what’s been going on ? you can pick your own reward just take me off the list . ❞

"Yeah… Sure…" Muttered, still looking at the younger man questioningly. He was still anticipating the moment when the other would reveal that it was all a joke, but when he realized that that point wouldn't come any time soon, the actor grinned. "Genius... Complete genius, Wes!" He lied, smacking his hand on the table with false enthusiasm. "I want to see it, dude. I bet that would make a great movie." It would be a terrible movie, but he just couldn't pass up the opportunity to encourage a terrible idea, especially if he faced no consequences.

          ❝right?  i  definitely  think  this  could  be  the  next  halloween  series…  it’ll  be  like  michael  meyer  never  even  existed.❞  michael  myers,  wesley…  michael  myers.  ❝there  could  also  be  a  blender,  and  aside  from  the  food  being  eaten  alive,  it’s  also  mutilated  in  those  things  –  imagine  the  horror!❞  obviously,  he  needs  to  be  talked  out  of  this  idea,  as  he’s  already  planning  on  how  much  a  human  sized  blender  prototype  would  cost.  money  isn’t  the  issue  here,  the  issue  is  his  clear  disregard  for  anything  even  remotely  intelligent.  ❝now  i  just  need  to  think  of  where  i  can  get  someone  to  make  me  a  blender  that  big,  do  you  know  anyone?❞

she bursts into laughter at the homme’s over-the-top response. he exudes energy, probably a side effect of youth or maybe he’s on something ── either way, it makes her eyes sparkle with amusement. she can’t help but admire his flair for story telling, even if it’s about something so peculiar like a cat caper, and feels drawn into the sheer absurdity of it all. as he elaborates further, luciana muffles a smattering of chuckles with her hand, shoulders slightly shaking, and fights the urge to ask him to tell her how he really feels about cats. the brunette is 100% a dog person, eddie is the one who likes cats while luciana likes the occasional cat video. ❝ i like to pet the kitty, ❞ she begins, hand over heart in mock hurt, ❝ on behalf of full-time and part-time pussy enthusiasts, myself included of course, yes to the offense. ❞ she knows that’s most definitely not the kind of pussy he is referring to, but she refuses to let him monopolize all the fun when it comes to absurd comments. her gaze flicks down to wesley’s arm, which looks like it had an encounter with a miniature tiger. ❝ those are some impressive battle scars, ❞ she quips, her fingers lightly tracing an invisible cat scratch in the air, ❝ one could say the cat really left a lasting impression on you. ❞ she pauses for a moment, as if processing his remaining prose. ❝ a customized cat calendar ? ❞ she gasps as if horrified, though, truthfully, she’s already thinking about cute costumes she can dress canela in for her own customized dog calendar. ❝ that’s a level of obsession even i can’t comprehend, and i once wrote an eulogy for enrique iglesias’ mole after he got it removed. ❞ by the time he wraps his story up, luciana is giving him two thumbs up. ❝ you really have a way with words. i was half-expecting the cat owner to have a secret lair and a cape by the time you were done. ❞ as people often say, no good story starts with someone eating salad, so kidnapping a cat is already a more interesting choice, she thinks. ❝ i hope you learned a valuable lesson from the experience, at least. like, perhaps, always carry antiseptic, ❞ she suggests, lips curling into a playful smirk. at the unexpected compliment, her hand sweeps through the air, as if presenting herself like a dazzling work of art. ❝ i’m flattered by your impeccable taste, ❞ gesturing subtly to the elegant yet conspicuous wedding ring on her finger, she adds, ❝ but that ship’s sailed. ❞ she doesn’t offer any further details and keeps her tone light, he seems harmless enough but between califoreal and her father-in-law’s eagerness to make her look bad in the media, one can never be too careful. ❝ that might explain why you look kinda familiar, i thought maybe i’d threatened you before or something ! ❞ she extends a hand out, ❝ i’m luciana, by the way. ❞

scout blinked in amusement before bursting into laughter. this guy, unlike way too many others that she's met in the past, can actually take a fucking joke; she could tell. " believe me, i thought about it. that'd just be another arrest though and it'd be so inconvenient. " scout wasn't necessarily joking, although her tone sounded like she could've been. scout was certainly no stranger to being violent in the name of fun. laughing, she leaned against the bar, already a few drinks in, and definitely planning on getting wasted. a playful smile crept onto her face, a mischievous glint in her eye, " um, yes! did we just become best friends ? "

she sighed dramatically, cupping her hands over her own cheeks, " i have no idea, truly. " logan truly valued having a friend like wesley. sure, she valued all of her friends more than anything, but wesley's stories never failed to make her laugh, including this one. she listened with a smile, head tilted, brows furrowed and eyes wide, " do ... i think having a 'hello kitty' tattoo signifies devil worship ? no. no, " she choked out a laugh, " i definitely don't. could be a thing though; i'd definitely google it. " she wasn't very well - versed in trendy things; maybe this was a new internet thing. who knows ? " mm! " she hummed, taking a drink of her water, " that's cool, mate ! i still can't do that. the whole 'gays can't drive' thing really holds up, i think. "

SIMON has reached a verdict, just as he has spent the entire evening reaching for fruity neon shots he never ordered to cope with his alleged acquirement of a degree in mixology and counseling psychology: he is way past the point where getting drunk in a club with pretty people is fun. for one thing, the people are barely pretty. they’re just petty, made up to the neins with the latest supersaturated pinterest trends, overdone nails clinking against novelty glasses about one more knockoff lipstick brand from shattering. despite his generally gregarious disposition, an expanding portion of which was also generally made up, he had never been a party animal, never desired to have his name memorised by bartenders as sober as their puking patrons. yet, here he was, awaiting the arrival of a director who’d probably directed his cab to another trashy institution of ethanol compounds that had expired before the first neanderthals ooga-boogad their way into discovering wheels, another dressed-up discotheque drowning in the grease of everyone’s phones and nobody’s work ethic. the least these imbeciles can be is fun. luckily for simon’s sanity, he hasn’t forgotten how fun listening to the ruining of someone’s life can be. ❝ no, ❞ he says, jaw dropped as far as it can go without actually unhinging. simon had never thought of the stage as a place for his style of professional pretending, but darn it if he isn’t giving the audition of his life right now for the role of mister manwhore’s one-night shrink. there is something about the other’s face, punchable qualities aside, that piques summer macbeth’s curiosity, her presence stabbing at simon’s consciousness as he nods to the tune of bass-boosted edm and self-pity. men are garbage, but they’re useful garbage for califoreal.com, and simon isn’t about to let a business opportunity drunkenly stumble away from him. ❝ men are such garbage, buddy. they’re the garbage the universe meant to take out centuries ago, but then the universe left them on the planet for a bit and when it came back the place was so stinked up the universe gave up. obviously, nothing has, is, or ever will be your fault. side note, though, i believe equating bravery to an organ most often found in people assigned male at birth is kind of a bad move in a public space. liquid courage has quite the hold on some, though, so i won’t hold it against you. ❞ liar, liar, throat on fire. simon wants to go home in a limousine with nothing for entertainment save for self-help books, to chug down his family’s hangover cures after racking his brain for translations of their hebrew measurements, to talk to a kid he knows would never be stupid enough to fall for a man – to talk to his daughter, then. that’s what he hopes, anyways, and clearly the universe didn’t care about his hopes and clearly every kid in california wants to be stupid enough to pull off this shit without being treated as he would have been a few decades back, so he clears his throat of its boiling deceit and sticks on a smile, fiddles with his hair, fixes his glasses. he’s a good guy, here and now. he is the good guy here. not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to be, when this guy’s what he’s working with. ❝ just wanted a few drink recommendations. i fear that we’ll need them, if you have any more stories of bobby blamer’s calibre. ❞ he shrugs, eyeing the cocktail list and seeing absolutely nothing that wouldn’t ruin his reputation in one sip. ❝ now i think of it, have i seen you in something? and i don’t mean in this club. doesn’t take 20/20 vision to know i’m a newbie here. i mean a magazine, a best of youtube compilation, the like. ❞

          a  chuckle  leaves  his  lips,  a  lot  of  what  the  other  was  saying  entering  one  ear  and  immediately  exiting  through  the  other,  a  pretty  face  with  little  to  no  substance.  ❝i  didn’t  understand  a  good  amount  of  what  you  just  said,  not  gonna  lie.❞  he  grabs  the  drink  the  bartender  places  in  front  of  him,  taking  a  good  chug,  setting  it  back  down,  then  resting  his  cheek  against  his  hand,  elbow  on  top  of  the  table  as  he  grinned  at  the  other.  ❝you  talk  kind  of  fancy.  you  sound  like  you  read  a  lot.❞  there  he  goes  again,  just  saying  stuff  because  he  can  with  zero  knowledge  of  whether  that’s  true  or  not.  truly,  some  of  the  things  that  he  says  is  ‘punch  me’  worthy,  but  he  likes  to  tell  himself  he  gets  away  with  things  because  he’s  cute.  after  all,  wesley  isn’t  a  mean  person.  he’s  just  like…  not  that  bright.  yeah,  that’s  it.

          he’s  twirling  the  little  umbrella  in  the  drink  absentmindedly,  humming  nothing  under  his  breath  for  a  split  second.  ❝i’m  not  a  bad  person,  you  know?❞  jesus  fucking  christ,  wesley.  ❝i  think  people  just  overreact.  like  i  took  your  cat  for  a  second  because  i  like  you,  not  because  i’m  crazy  or  anything.❞  stealing  someone’s  cat  to  get  their  attention  is  kind  of  crazy,  but  go  off.  ❝like  i  didn’t  do  anything  seriously  wrong.  he’s  probably  just  like  that  because  he’s  a  cancer.❞  blaming  his  zodiac  sign  only  sounds  reasonable,  of  course.  he  rolls  his  eyes,  now  sipping  on  his  drink,  venting  to  the  worst  person  imaginable,  resisting  the  urge  to  reach  over  and  poke  his  glasses  for  the  fuck  of  it.  

          ❝get  the  pornstar  martini.  or  a  long  island,  or  a  blueberry  margarita…  those  are  really  good.❞  he  replies,  grinning  like  the  idiot  he  is.  at  his  question,  he  shrugs.  ❝i’m  a  model  and  an  influencer.  my  family  also  owns  hotels  and  lounges  worldwide.  sometimes,  i  post  drum  covers  on  youtube.  i’m  wesley.  wesley  lafleur.❞  a  pause,  as  he  comes  closer  to  the  other.  ❝are  you  going  to  be  my  emotional  support  bestie  tonight?❞